Jules and the Runaway Twins: prologue

“Mill-Heights not the sort of place you hang around for very long …” The line played over

and over in Meg’s head as their station wagon clattered over a streak of potholes

and past a green sign that read: MILL-HEIGHTS—POP. 39,674. She glanced to the passenger seat and nudged Conrad’s shoulder. “We’re here,” she said to her sleeping

brother.

“I was hoping you’d just wake me up when we’re headed home,” said Conrad,

as he fumbled for his glasses. “And done with this wild-goose chase.”

What home? Meg thought to herself. “C’mon, Conrad. This is our only chance,”

she scolded him. When her brother said nothing, Meg stepped on the gas, giving

the car a nasty jolt.

As the town came into sight, Meg thought again about the letter. Not the sort of

place you hang around for very long. Maybe so, but at this point, Mill-Heights was their

only hope. If nothing turned up here, Meg wasn’t sure what they would do. The

summer was dwindling fast.

“Anything from Uncle Fiske?” Conrad finally mumbled.

“He won’t notice we’re gone until he’s finished appraising every square inch of

that house,” Meg said, stopping at a traffic light across from the town green. This

was the place no one wanted to hang around? From Meg’s point of view, it looked

pleasant enough. A few kids leaving an arcade, an old clock tower bent at the hip,

and coming around the corner, a pretty girl all in pink.

“Welcome to Mill-Heights,” Meg said to her brother.